


The Line Between

by writingonpostcards



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (violence/injury applies to ONE scene only), Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Blood and Injury, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gun Violence, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 12:03:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: After accusing his partner, Kent, of being a double-agent, Jack is suspended from his job. One year later, Jack’s put back on duty with Bitty, a US agent five years his junior. It’s hard not to read it as a snub.Jack and Bitty’s partnership is rocky, with distrust on both sides. When a chance arises for Jack to prove his suspicions about Kent, can he move past his resentment toward Bitty so they can work together and finally prove he was right?





	The Line Between

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [2019 OMGCP Reverse Bang](https://omgcpreversebang.tumblr.com/)  
> Based on artwork by the talented Max ([tumblr](https://transzimmermann.tumblr.com/) \+ [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualkon))  
> Support this on tumblr & reblog [the 'official' post](https://omgcpreversebang.tumblr.com/post/185144043245/title-the-line-between-author) | [the art](https://transzimmermann.tumblr.com/post/185140835143/aesthetic-for-the-line-between) | [the fic](https://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/post/185140914246/the-line-between) | [the banner](https://transzimmermann.tumblr.com/post/185140845138/title-between-the-lines-by-17piesinseptember)

The house is flashy from the outside and flashy within. Pristine white walls and glass and stainless steel everywhere. The suit Jack’s wearing is expensive and heavy on his frame, but he’s thankful for the weight of it as he blends into the high society figures milling in the large dining room.

Bitty has gone to canvass the house while Jack stays in the massive open-space downstairs, trying to spot the man whose file they were sent a few days ago. According to their intel, he’s here tonight for a meeting. Jack and Bitty are meant to eavesdrop.

Jack checks his watch. Bitty’s been gone almost ten minutes, far too long for what he was doing in Jack’s opinion, and he’s annoyed anew that Bitty got to be the one canvassing while he has to feign interest in whatever conversation passers-by try to draw him into. He may not like Bitty but he’s mature enough to admit Bitty’s better at social pleasantry.

Jack excuses himself with a polite smile from the group he’d ended up in and makes his way over to a high table in a corner of the room. No doorways near it. Perfect vantage point. He itches to loosen his tie but knows that will draw unwanted attention in this crowd.

“Now that’s a face I could never forget,” someone says beside him.

Jack’s skin breaks out in goosebumps in the split-second it takes his brain to register whose voice it is. He sets his drink down on the high table and turns slowly, gut heavy already.

Sure enough, Kent is there, hands in pockets, smirking at him like the last time they saw each other wasn’t as Jack was packing up his desk.

“Guess the rumours saying you fucked off to America are true.” Kent smiles like he’s stumbled upon some amusing water-cooler gossip.

“I didn’t _fuck_ _off_ here,” Jack bristles. After their years together as partners there’s no middle ground when it comes to his reactions, only all or nothing.

“Oh, I know,” Kent says, grin widening. “I know about your assignment.”

Jack narrows his eyes. He didn’t think anyone but the upper levels of management knew about him working this case. It’s just like Kent to have somehow weaselled his way into knowing. Or maybe he’s been promoted since Jack’s suspension. The agency have kept him in the dark this past year.

“What are you doing here?” Jack asks as Kent moves closer to him, leaning casually against the table. He picks up Jack’s abandoned drink and takes a large swig, grimacing as he swallows.

“Non-alcoholic. Forgot you did that. Guess you’re on the job tonight.”

Kent says it like he knows but Jack’s not going to give him anything.

“Guess you’re not,” Jack says as Kent grabs a champagne flute from a passing waiter.

Kent’s smirk gets distorted through the liquid but Jack feels the mockery of the raised glass as Kent’s silence rings keenly in his ears.

“Must really sting that they’ve put you on this case, huh,” Kent comments lightly as if discussing the weather.

Jack can feel the blood pumping through his palms and up his neck as the truth hits home. It does sting. The case, his partner, the fact that the two things combined make it feel like he’s been demoted even more than getting suspended ever did.

Jack’s about to reply when he spots Bitty enter the room, his gelled hair catching the light. Jack frowns again at the bright pocket-square sticking out of Bitty’s suit pocket, remembering the argument they’d had over it back at the safe house. Jack couldn’t make Bitty see that it was far too memorable.

Kent must notice Jack’s distraction because he turns to look where Jack’s gaze is.

Bitty hasn’t spotted him yet, and there are almost a hundred people milling about the room. Jack knows Kent zones in on the right body though when he laughs. Jack watches him down the rest of the champagne before placing the glass heavily onto the table.

“Guess _that_ hasn’t changed either. You’ve sure got a type, Zimms. Maybe it isn’t business after all.”

Jack doesn’t get a chance to refute anything Kent says as he pushes abruptly from the table and gets lost in the crowd of people. Jack’s head spins and he frowns, confused by what Kent was trying to say. His preferences aren’t something they’d ever discussed, no matter how close they grew during their partnership.

“Drinking on the job?” Bitty asks when he finds Jack at the table, judgement clear in his voice.

“Wasn’t me.” Jack searches the crowd for Kent but can’t see him.

“Whatever,” Bitty dismisses him. “I found the room upstairs. We should be able to hear everything through the air grate in the room next door.”

Jack gives up on looking for Kent. If he doesn’t want to be seen, Jack won’t be able to find him. Kent’s always been good at that.

“Where’s the mark?” Bitty asks Jack.

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere,” Bitty repeats.

“As in not here. I haven’t seen him.” It’s a little on the sarcastic side, but Jack thought his ‘nowhere’ was clear.

“Intel said he would be here tonight,” Bitty reminds him.

“Well, I haven’t seen him.”

Bitty sighs and checks his watch. “Maybe they moved the time of the meeting.”

Jack shakes his head. “We’ve been here almost two hours. If it was happening tonight, I would have seen him.”

Bitty scoffs and rests and elbow on the table.

“What?” Jack asks.

“Seems to me you’re distracted. Did it occur to you that maybe you missed him?”

Jack bristles at the accusation and stops casting his eyes around, stupidly still looking for Kent. He drops them to Bitty instead and sees the resentment his own eyes must be mirroring.

“I’m not distracted.”

Bitty nudges the empty champagne glass with his fingers.

“I told you. That wasn’t me.” Jack never drinks on the job and rarely ever outside of it either, but Bitty doesn’t deserve to know why that is.

“Let’s go up to the room anyway,” Bitty decides for them.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I believe there’s a hundred people here and our information said there’s a meeting happening tonight, upstairs, right now. I’m not wasting this opportunity on your word. I don’t trust you.”

Jack didn’t need to hear it spoken out loud to know that. Bitty’s made it clear from their first meeting that he doesn’t regard Jack with anything close to trust. Jack doesn’t particularly care, except that it makes the job more difficult. Trust will either come or it won’t and if it doesn’t, at least they’ve only been assigned this one case together. Once it’s done, they can part ways and he’ll never have to hear another thinly veiled insult in Bitty’s deceivingly sweet Georgian accent again.

 

* * *

 

 

There’s no meeting, no mark, and no good food at the party. Jack’s frustrated on multiple levels as they leave just after midnight, and it’s clear from Bitty’s silence and eagerness to be at least three feet apart from Jack at all times that he is too.

Jack follows Bitty’s route back to the safe house, widening the gap between them so he doesn’t have to hear the clack of Bitty’s polished leather shoes on the sidewalk.

His thoughts spiral in a loop about how unfair his situation is and what a colossal waste of his time this night has been. They go so fast and loud that he doesn’t realise what’s happening until he rounds the corner and sees Bitty in a fistfight with a mugger.

He feels inadequate for a moment, berating himself for letting his guard down so much he missed in. Then another moment deciding Bitty doesn’t warrant his assistance in the situation. The moment after that a part of him decides to feel guilty about the decision and by that stage, it’s becoming clear that Bitty does need the help.

The mugger is skinny but taller than Bitty, probably high on something which makes his movements erratic. Plus, he has a knife. Bitty should have taken him down ten seconds ago, yet they’re still fighting.

Wrong word. The mugger is fighting. Bitty’s doing little more than block.

Jack runs over to them and puts himself in the middle, getting the muggers’ hands behind his back, forcing the knife out of his hand and shoving him against the alley wall in a matter of seconds.

“Did he take anything?” he demands of Bitty.

“No.”

“Run while your legs still work,” Jack says with more aggression than he would normally let out on a stranger, but he’s pissed at this guy, and pissed at Bitty and his emotions are already high-strung tonight.

The guys runs a crooked line away from him and around the corner.

Bitty throws his hands in the air and spins on his heel. No gratitude at all for Jack’s efforts.

“What the hell was that?” Jack demands, catching Bitty’s wrist as they exit out of the alleyway.

Bitty breaks his hold easily and shoots him a harsh look. He stays silent.

“You didn’t even try to fight back,” Jack accuses.

“Huh. A trained operative against a random street thug,” Bitty spits out, walking so fast Jack’s half-jogging to stay beside him. “Like that was going to be a fair fight.”

“You were being mugged,” Jack points out, annoyed Bitty is missing his point, not caring anymore that he wasn’t thanked. He’s sure it would be insincere anyway.

“I didn’t go through training to disproportionately retaliate to muggings.”

Jack’s eyes widen as Bitty continues to not see the bigger issue. “Then don’t react disproportionately. You were still being mugged, and—How can you—That’s not even my point.”

“And what is your point? Huh?” Bitty stops and spins to Jack, who is half a step behind and has to stop abruptly to avoid crashing into his partner. “You want to rub it in my face I got attacked? Continue with this little bit of victim blaming?”

Jack’s hackles rise at the accusation. “That’s not what I said,” he refutes.

“Or, gosh Jack,” Bitty continues in s saccharine voice, placing his hands over heart and blinking cartoonishly up at him. “Were you worried about little me.”

“ _No_ ,” Jack tells him with more aggravation than required.

Bitty drops his hands and the fake polite smile. “Good.”

“Not good. I’m worried about me.”

Bitty’s eyebrows raise and there’s so much judgement in the one expression Jack can feel it physically.

Bitty takes a long breath. “I get mugged and you’re worried about yourself?” Bitty asks with deadly calm.

“Not right now. Myself in the future.”

Bitty breathes in harshly through his nose. “You know when the agency told me you’d had communication issues in the past, I didn’t think they meant the things you say wouldn’t make _any fucking sense._ ”

Bitty yells on the last few words, using his arms to gesture with each word.

Jack can’t help but raise his voice back. “You’re a defensive fighter! Totally defensive! You barely tried to unarm the guy and didn’t do anything more than block! What happens when we get into a fight in the field, huh?”

Jack doesn’t wait for a response, though Bitty opens his mouth like he’s going to give one.

“I need to know you have my back and after seeing that just now, I know you don’t.”

Bitty doesn’t fight back immediately. Jack waits, breathing heavily from his outburst, hands shaking from letting out so much emotion at once and coming down still from the events of the night.

“You haven’t been in the field in over a year,” Bitty says darkly after several moments. “Do you think I feel great about _you_ having _my_ back?”

“That’s different,” Jack cuts over the end of Bitty’s sentence.

“Oh, my mistake. Of course.” Bitty’s voice drips with sarcasm. “The golden boy of Canada can do no wrong. Except, wait, that’s not you anymore.”

“Don’t bring my suspension into this,” Jack frowns. “This is about you not being able to do your job in a way that means I can do mine.” The trust issue is one thing. Jack cares about this more.

“Hey, I didn’t sign up for this partnership either,” Bitty says, with hands held up to the sides of his face. “But I don’t need to be able to throw a punch to have your back. There are plenty of other ways besides _brawn_ ,” Bitty throws a dismissive eye over Jack’s figure, “to be a good partner.”

Jack realises his clenched fists bring the muscles in his arms to better attention and he fights the urge to loosen them. He doesn’t want Bitty to think he has that effect over him.

“I’d prefer if I knew you could,” Jack says tersely, trying to regain civility.

“I can throw a punch. Happy?”

Jack shakes his head. “No. I need to see it.”

“Why can’t you take my word for it?” Bitty asks, with an exacerbated shake of his head. “You don’t trust me?”

“Do you trust me?” Jack retorts instead of answering.

Even if Bitty hadn’t said as much earlier that night, his narrowed eyes now would tell Jack everything he needs to know.

“Look.” Jack un-clenches his fists finally. He’s tired, he’s crashing from the adrenaline rush of being mobbed, he’s frustrated with himself and Bitty for failing their recon mission, and Kent’s vicious laugh is still ringing in his head. He doesn’t have the mental capacity to play this discussion out any further.

“Look,” Jack repeats. “I get it. I hear what you’re saying but I _need_ this to be able to do my job to the best of my abilities. One sparring session with me to prove you can hold your own. Then we can move on.” Jack’s tempted to say please but his pride isn’t that far gone, though certainly freshly bruised tonight.

Bitty sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. He talked harshly of brawn earlier but Jack can see he’s no lightweight himself.

“Alright. One session.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bitty takes the phone call out of the room but he doesn’t bother schooling his expression as he re-enters the study.

“Something wrong?” Jack asks of the frown on Bitty’s face.

“Yeah.” Bitty sits in his desk chair and throws his phone onto his desk. He purses his lips and presses his knuckles to them.

He barely seems aware of Jack, so Jack turns back to his computer to finishing writing his report of their disastrous mission the other night and waits.

“They think there’s a double-agent in your division.”

Jack’s fingers freeze over the keyboard.

“Sorry,” Bitty adds, and actually makes it sound like he means it. “I know that’s…”

Jack curls his fingers into is palms, trying to keep the rage that flashes through him inside and not let it out toward Bitty. He doesn’t need to give him any more incentive to class him as a bad agent.

It’s hard to keep the lid on his emotions. A double-agent in his division is the exact suspicion he got suspended for bringing up.

“This is from your side?” Jack asks, working to keep his voice flat.

“Yeah.”

“Are they sure?” Jack has to check before he decides how he wants to feel about hearing this.

“As sure as they can be without any hard evidence. I don’t think they’ve made Canada aware yet.”

Jack laughs once without humour. They should have been aware. He _told_ them.

“They probably won’t, considering,” Bitty adds.

Jack finally feels in control enough to turn around. “Why did they tell you?”

Bitty cocks his head at Jack, raising an eyebrow like he’s missing something. It clicks quickly.

“They want me on it?” Jack’s mouth twists down. He should feel vindicated that someone is finally listening to him, instead, his gut feels heavy.

Bitty leans forward in his chair, clasping his hands loosely together. “They didn’t give me a directive, ask outright, or even imply. But the fact that they told someone at my level only makes sense given _this_ situation,” Bitty gestures between them.

Jack nods along as Bitty speaks. “Do you think they suspect me?”

Bitty is shaking his head before Jack’s finished asking his question. “If I'd gotten that sense I wouldn't be telling you.”

“You could be double-bluffing.”

“Still don’t trust me?”

Jack shrugs. He does in some ways. Living in the same space as a Bitty has forced some level of trust, and Jack can’t deny he’s great at his job and sticks to his word. It’s hard to let go of the logical voice in his head—built up through years of training—telling him that they're still spies working for different divisions.

“Fair,” Bitty agrees when Jack says as much. He stands up and stretches then rubs his hands over his face. “I'll be in the kitchen. I need to think.”

Jack nods and watches him leave, knowing by now that he's gone to bake something.

Bitty's phone sits abandoned on his desk. Jack picks it up and turns the screen on. The background is a generic cityscape. He turns to the door and pauses, waiting until he hears the sounds of cupboards and drawers opening and closing before he brings up the lockscreen. It wouldn't take him long to get into Bitty's phone.

He lets the phone go black before carefully replacing it in the exact position Bitty had thrown it. He trusts Bitty enough for that.

He joins Bitty in the kitchen, drawn by the smell of melted butter and feeling the tinge of guilt for thinking about invading Bitty's privacy. If he offers help it should go away.

Bitty is so far in his head that Jack has to step bodily in front of him to get his attention.

“Yes?” Bitty's asks, abrupt.

“Would you like help.”

Bitty blinks. “Is that a question? I couldn't hear past the monotone.”

It almost comes out as teasing and Jack’s lips quirk up briefly. “Yes.”

“Don’t expect cooking instructions,” Bitty warns, pointing the rolling pin he’s holding. “I’m still wrapping my head around what we just found out.”

“That's fine.” Jack side-steps Bitty to grab a tea towel and sling it over his shoulder. “You talk, I'll listen.”

“I don't want you touching my pastry.”

“Noted.”

“Peeling and chopping only.”

“Okay.” Jack opens the drawer and grabs the peeler and a sharp knife. “I can do that.”

Jack endures only one minute of being closely monitored by Bitty before he puts down the knife to address the situation.

“You don’t need to watch so closely. I swear I can dice these to your standards. Cross my heart.” He even does the action.

“But—”

“Serious. Bitty. We've been on this case for nearly a month. You bake a lot and I have highly superior observation skills,” Jack tells him. “I’ve got this.”

Bitty narrows his eyes at Jack, who makes a show of picking up the knife and making a precise cut into his apple.

“Fine,” Bitty relents.

“Good,” Jack grins. “Go back to analysing the phone call.”

“No interrupting?” Bitty checks.

Jack mimes zipping his lips closed.

“Alrighty. So.”

Bitty starts up his talking again and Jack listens closely while also making sure his apples get cut into identically sized pieces. He takes breaks frequently to watch Bitty wave his rolling pin around as he speaks. It’s fascinating to hear someone’s thought process out loud and Jack’s taken in by the efficiency of Bitty’s brain and his ability to connect things quickly.

Jack’s impressed. It makes him feel bad for doubting Bitty on their first mission, enough that he offers to do the washing up. Bitty gratefully accepts Jack’s offer without even a cursory ‘no, that’s alright’ and Jack’s half-way through the dishes before he gets the chance to contribute anything to Bitty’s analysis of the situation.

“But that's all just conjecture anyway,” Bitty begins to wrap up as he dries and re-shelves the dishes. “The fact of the matter—well I say ‘fact’ but you get my point—is that, I mean, you suspected a mole in your agency like an entire year ago. I don't get why they didn't follow it up. Or did they?” Bitty asks Jack, spinning to face him.

“I don't actually know,” Jack answers honestly. “I got suspended almost straight away.”

“Well see, that's just it.” Bitty spins round again, gesturing with the plate he’s drying. Jack reaches out automatically in case it drops, but Bitty keeps his grip and adds it to the stack of them in the cabinet.

“They suspended you that soon?” Bitty leans back on the counter top. “Isn't it protocol that they _have_ to follow up on things like this? A one day turnaround seems really illogical.”

Bitty bites his lip and crosses his arms. Jack holds another plate to him, water dripping off it onto the floor before Bitty realises it’s there and takes it.

“Even if they looked into it and found out you were wrong, I mean, why suspension?” Bitty rubs the plate back and front and then repeats, caught on his thought.

Jack puts the last few dishes into the drying rack to wait for Bitty to catch up.

“Yes, your partner was the person you suspected, but why not a reassignment from them? Instead of suspension?”

Bitty straightens up. “Oh. I don't know if you know I know that was who you suspected?” he asks sheepishly. Jack blinks at the syntax of Bitty’s sentence, but the meaning carries.

Jack pulls the plug out of the sink. “I didn't.”

“The agency told me before they paired us up.” Bitty's mouth screws up. “Sorry.” They must be getting closer because this apology sounds genuine as well.

Jack shakes his head, pulling off the washing gloves. “It's fine. I expected as much.”

Bitty sighs. “Still. It's not like I really needed to know for our assignment.” Bitty picks up a plate from the drying rack. “They were right though?”

“Yeah.” Jack nods and wipes the bench down with tea towel. “It was my partner. Kent. You actually almost met him that night when… That night…” His movements slow as the start of a thought creeps into Jack's brain.

“Jack?” Bitty waves a hand.

Jack nods once to acknowledge Bitty then screws his eyes shut to think and picture back to that night, his first one on this case with Bitty.

He saw Kent. They talked. He got distracted by the feelings Kent got swirling inside him and then Bitty got mugged and they argued. So many things happened that night that Jack wasn't prepared for. That intelligence hadn't forewarned him on. That created chaos and failure.

Jack was so flustered that night that he never stopped to question why it went so wrong. Right from the start.

Why their mark wasn't there. Why the meeting didn’t happen. Why they got mugged…

Jack's eyes fly open.

He looks up to Bitty who is much closer than he was earlier. His hand is on Jack's shoulder. He missed that happening.

“Why was Kent there.” Jack says.

Bitty pulls his hand away, looking at Jack with something like alarm.

“Why was he there?” Jack repeats.

“Where?”

“Our first recon mission. That house party. Before we went upstairs. Kent was there and he came over to me and we talked and—Fuck, I’m such an idiot for not seeing it sooner.”

“You're not an idiot, Jack,” Bitty tells him sternly.

Jack shakes his head. He doesn't have time for coddling or affirmation.

“I was. I let my emotions get the better of me. He brought up my suspension and he _knew_ that would make my anxiety flair. And then he kept implying that he knew about the assignment but at the same time he was asking all these questions. I thought maybe they'd promoted him since I left and that was how he knew. But I would've heard about that.”

“Or I would have,” Bitty adds.

“Exactly,” Jack exclaims. “Plus, he left really suddenly _just before_ you got there. Before you could see him.”

“What did he say before he left?” Bitty asks seriously. “Anything leading?”

Jack exhales roughly. “No. Just another stupid comment to rile me up.”

“You’re sure?”

Jack laughs. “Hundred percent. I remember it very clearly. But you’re right. The agency should have split us up, not suspended me. Then they assigned me here for this case. So why would the agency send Kent as well. Unless…”

“Unless they didn't,” Bitty fills in immediately.

Jack nods. “He was cagey when I asked him outright. Not his usual cocky-cagey though. Like… Like he actually did have something to hide.”

“Like the fact that he's a double agent?” Bitty suggests. “That's where you're going with this, right?”

Jack nods. He feels so relieved, like finally solving a riddle after it's been in your head for days, or putting the name to a half-remembered song.

“Okay, okay. Let's pause for a minute.”

“But—”

“Look,” Bitty interjects. Jack bites his tongue. “I've always had good instincts for this stuff and I think you could be right.”

“Thank you,” Jack exclaims.

“But,” Bitty holds up a hand. “You _could be_ right. You don't have any proof right now. Just very compelling logic.”

“Okay. Then I'll get proof.”

“ _We’ll_ get proof,” Bitty corrects with emphasis.

Jack blinks.

“If you're right, Kent's got a lot of resources behind him—money, manpower—and from what you've told me of that night, access to your case reports. This isn't going to be easy or remotely safe. You're not doing it alone.”

“You believe me then?”

Bitty nods.

Jack doesn’t understand why he’s so relieved.

 

* * *

 

 

Bitty's wearing a tight black top and yoga pants. Jack almost trips over his own feet when he enters the training room.

Jack tells himself the outfit and his stumble aren’t connected, though the haunting sound of Kent’s laughs ringing in his ears suggests otherwise.

“You’re late,” Bitty reprimands him. “This sparring session is for your benefit.”

“I know. Sorry.” Jack wanted to do it before they started planning how to catch Kent as the double-agent.

He throws a towel and a bottle of water toward Bitty which he easily catches. “You’ve warmed up?” Jack asks, feigning ignorance of the pink tinge to Bitty’s cheeks.

“You gave me plenty of time to,” Bitty says pleasantly. Jack can hear the acerbic-ness beneath. It’s feels like a step backwards.

“Sorry,” he apologises again, dropping his towel and water by the exposed-brick wall. “Let’s get to it then. Hit me.”

Bitty shuffles his weight back and forth on his feet in the centre of the room. “Come again?”

“Sorry. _Try_ and hit me,” Jack taunts, stepping in to join Bitty in the centre of the room.

Bitty rolls his eyes. “Calm down. I don't need to be baited. I'm here to show you I can throw a punch, not feed your ego.”

Jack rolls his shoulders. “No reason you can't do both.”

Bitty smiles sharply at that. He moves into a fighting stance, wrapped hands held in front of him. “Come get me, old man.”

Jack knows it's only jest. He also knows he's only five years older than Bitty. Still. The words hit him unexpectedly hard coming this close to his suspension, and bring back the thoughts he’d had during that time about being let go permanently.

He moves quickly toward Bitty, who's still managing to smile at Jack. He tries to jab Bitty in the side but is neatly blocked. He goes in again, throwing a series of punches that fail to land and that, upsettingly, reveal Bitty to be right; he's lost some of his agility.

“You're meant to be fighting back,” Jack says, stepping back from Bitty, feeling a light stretch in his muscles.

“I'm just warming up,” Bitty says pleasantly, stretching his fingers.

“Right.” Jack doesn't believe that's the full truth.

He goes back in for another round that couldn't have lasted more than 10 seconds but makes him realise the game Bitty is playing. The intensity of his eyes on Jack is more than observational, it’s analytical. The next time Jack goes in, he feints the start of a routine he's used before then switches tactics and manages to move behind Bitty to get him in a stronghold.

Jack grins, feeling Bitty's pulse pumping furiously under his fingers before Bitty breaks Jack's hold and moves away.

Jack shakes his arms out, grinning still as Bitty turns to face him.

“Enough cataloguing my technique,” Jack tells him. “Now we spar.”

Bitty stretches his neck one way then the other. “You said it.”

Bitty makes the first move this time and Jack is forced to take a few steps back to retain his balance, surprised by the speed of Bitty's movements. He ducks under Bitty's arm when he pulls it back too far before a punch and manages to lead them away from the corner of the room.

Jack's breathing is heavy now and his shirt sticks to his back.

Bitty watches him with narrowed eyes as they circle each other. He's yet to land a punch.

“I'm beginning to think you were lying to me about your fighting skills,” Jack taunts, trying to grab a moment to catch his breath.

Bitty doesn't let him.

Bitty fights with more emotion than Jack expected, and Jack quickly learns to read the signs on his face; the narrowed eyes or twitch in his right jaw. Jack's own style is more analytical. It's always taken a lot for his emotions to come out during a fight, but he prefers having a clear head to be able to focus completely on his movements and those of his opponent.

Jack sees the narrowing of Bitty’s eyes and manages to block the kick that follows it. He wraps his hands around Bitty’s ankle and twists. Bitty crashes to the floor.

“How long has it been since you've properly fought in the field?” Jack asks, holding his hand out to help Bitty up.

Bitty flips onto his back and stares daggers at Jack. His skin is flushed and his hair sits flat against his forehead.

Bitty ignores the hand and pushes himself to his feet. “A while,” he hedges in answer to Jack's question, then comes right back with a verbal attack. “Though probably not as long as you.”

Jack wonders if Bitty keeps bringing it up to try and distract him, because he delivers it along with a low kick aimed at Jack’s calves. Jack doesn't think it's working until he misreads a signal from Bitty and ends up on his back on the floor, Bitty's hand pressed to his windpipe. Bitty looks far too happy with their position.

Jack shoves Bitty's hand away. “Still not a punch,” he says, standing up. He peels off his shirt and throws it into the corner, sick of the feeling of damp fabric against his skin.

He turns back to the centre of the room, stretching out his arms behind his back when he sees Bitty isn’t making a move.

“What are you playing at?” Bitty asks, standing ill at ease, brow furrowed.

“What?” Jack asks.

Jack rolls his shoulders back and pushes his hair back, still waiting for Bitty to make the next move.

Bitty eyes flit around the space for a second before he squares his jaw and moves.

Jack’s taken off-guard by a whole new set of expressions on Bitty’s face. If Bitty was fast before, now he’s frantic. Jack’s doing all he can to block the arms and legs coming toward him. His brain hasn’t worked this fast in a long time.

When Bitty’s punch finally connects there’s so much power behind it that Jack’s head whips round to the side so fast he over-balances and stumbles to the floor.

He can hear Bitty breathing harshly above him.

Jack presses his fingers lightly to his jaw and hisses when it twinges. He runs his fingers over the skin but can’t feel any broken skin.

“You can throw a punch,” Jack says, lifting his head to Bitty.

Bitty’s expression is flat but as Jack watches, it mellows out until Jack can recognise the worry in his eyes.

“Jack,” Bitty says apologetically.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” Bitty’s expression shifts and Jack feels the reprimand in it immediately.

“It was a solid punch,” he says instead.

Bitty holds his hand out to Jack. Jack lets Bitty help him to his feet. He can feel his jaw starting to slowly throb.

“Go to the lounge,” Bitty instructs. “I’ll get you some painkillers.”

Jack doesn’t try to argue. He grabs his towel and water and makes his way into the main room. He lowers himself onto the couch, shutting his eyes and focussing in on the warmth of his jaw, trying to figure out how much of a headache he’ll have tomorrow.

The couch dips and he opens his eyes. Bitty wordlessly holds up the packet and pops two pills into Jack’s palm.

“I'm sorry.” Bitty's offers an ice-pack to Jack after he swallows. “I should have pulled the punch a little.”

Jack takes the ice pack and presses it to his jaw. “It's fine.”

“You're going to bruise.”

“Part of the job.”

Bitty sighs. “Yeah.”

“Hey can I ask you something?” Jack knows he's taking advantage of Bitty's guilty conscience, but, he tells himself, Bitty doesn't have to answer.

“Sure.”

“You had a strange reaction when I took my shirt off.” Jack shifts the ice-pack. “Almost...aggressive.”

Bitty shifts away from Jack on the couch. “That's not a question,” he hedges, eyes fixed on his own feet.

“Why?”

Jack’s fingers go numb from holding the ice-pack as he waits for Bitty to speak.

After a minute, Bitty sighs. Still looking at his feet, he says, “Honestly, I thought you were trying to use the fact that I'm gay to distract me.”

Jack frowns. “That's ridiculous.”

“I know.” Bitty shrugs, lifting his palms up. “I was a little worked up already and the way you were stretching—I just thought you must have been—Well, anyway. You weren’t.”

“I wasn’t,” Jack confirms.

Bitty flashes him a quick, tight-lipped smile. “It was probably self-centred of me to assume it anyway.”

Jack disagrees—Bitty’s exactly the kind of person he’d show-off for. Under different circumstances. Jack hates that Kent recognised it before Jack did, but he had a lot of other emotions to work his way through. He’s here now.

Jack clears his throat and readjusts the ice-pack on his face. His palms feel hot.

“I’m sorry for pushing you,” he says, instead of asking if that means he’s Bitty’s type. Jack shouldn’t care about the answer to that question anyway. He may be attracted to Bitty, but they’re colleagues. Temporary colleagues at that. “I should have trusted your word.”

Bitty sighs and leans back into the couch, rolling his head against the cushion to face Jack. “We weren’t there yet. I don’t mind that you didn’t.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, but the way he’s smiling at Jack leads him to believe that he and Bitty are there now; the same page.

 

* * *

 

 

Bitty uses some external contacts to get them the equipment to bug Kent's apartment. They spread everything out on the dining table to familiarise themselves with it, and test it works.

“We need to keep this off grid,” Bitty says.

“Just between us,” Jack agrees.

Bitty hands him an earpiece and Jack takes it into the other room.

“Alright then. Is this coming through?” Bitty’s voice in Jack’s ear is clear.

“I can hear you fine,” he replies.

“Okay. Good.” The sigh is soft but Jack still catches it. “I don’t know how we’re going to pull this off. We’re basically working two cases at once.”

“What do you mean?” Jack stares at the wall to where Bitty should be on the other side.

“We’ll have to keep up our official assignment. As important as this is, I don’t want to jeopardise my job over it. Plus, it’s as good a cover as any.”

Jack wonders why Bitty hasn’t voiced this worry before. It’s been two weeks of planning and digging up information on Kent’s activities over the past year and further back. Jack knows they make a good team, their skills complementary. They’re as prepared as they can be for an off-the-books case where there’s no outside help.

“We can handle it,” Jack reassures Bitty. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“I’m worried.” Jack can picture Bitty biting his lip, the way he does when he’s thinking about something he doesn’t want to be.

“About?” Jack steps into the corridor, ready to return to Bitty’s side.

“You.”

Jack stops. “About me?”

“Yes. Kent’s your old partner. You have a history. We both know he can get under your skin if he wants. There’s a whole emotional side that we don’t normally have in our cases.”

“I didn’t realise you’d been thinking about that,” Jack tells Bitty. He walks slowly up the corridor until he can see Bitty sitting at the table. The solitary lamp he has on throws strange shadows over his face.

“I’ve been thinking of every angle.”

Jack steps into the room and Bitty lifts his head to him immediately.

“We’ve got this,” Jack tells him, staying over by the doorway. “You’ve thought of every angle, after all.”

Bitty looks worried still. “It’s a lot of pressure on you.”

“I can handle it. He won’t get to me this time.”

Bitty bites his lip. Whatever he’s thinking about, he doesn’t share it with Jack.

 

* * *

 

 

Breaking into Kent’s place is easy enough to make Jack worry.

“Jack, we’ve got this,” Bitty reassures him. “Ten minutes tops, okay? With me?”

Jack nods and peels off to bug the apartment while Bitty goes into the study to try and find anything incriminating on Kent’s computer or in his files.

As Jack moves from room to room, he’s surprised to see the place looks lived in. Dirty mugs and earmarked books. Artworks that aren’t generic prints and actual house plants. It’s not the look of a place only sometimes occupied. It means Kent is here enough that he’s bothered with homemaking. Jack wonders how long Kent’s been playing both sides to have not one, but two bonsais.

There’s personal photos in the bedroom. Kent with friends. Kent with family. Kent on “vacations” around the world. Jack can pick a few of them from missions they’d done back when they were partners.

He slips a bug behind the headboard. He didn’t think it was necessary to include this room but Bitty had insisted and Jack’s been agreeing to his suggestions ever since his refusal to listen to them on their first undercover mission lead them to failure.

Bitty’s still working on Kent’s computer when Jack rejoins him.

“All done?” Bitty asks, eyes lifting from the screen.

“Yeah. Need help in here?”

Bitty shakes his head. “I’ve already done the filing cabinets. Nothing in them. I’m just waiting for the download to finish.”

“It looks like Kent’s lived here a while,” Jack tells Bitty while they wait. “There’s houseplants. Lots of framed pictures.”

Bitty taps his gloved fingers on the hardwood desk. “He’s got one of you in here, by the way.” He pulls open the top drawer of Kent’s desk. Jack walks around the table to stand beside Bitty and looks down.

His face stares up at him. He was expecting a group picture, or one of the both of them together. It’s just him. An unframed photo, rough around the edges from handling. Bitty picks it up and flips it over. Kent’s dated the back and labelled it with Jack’s initials.

“Why keep it in here?” Jack asks. Bitty returns it to its place.

“You know him better than I do.”

The key sounding in the front door surprises them both.

Jack looks wide eyed to Bitty. “Fuck.”

“Okay. Okay.” Bitty shuts the drawer gently. “We made a contingency plan for this.”

“But I didn’t think we’d have to use it,” Jack hisses, heartbeat jacking up as he watches Bitty eject the hard drive and pocket it before he meticulously resets Kent’s desk.

“No-one ever wants to _use_ the contingency plan but we don’t have a choice now.”

Bitty hurries around to Jack’s side of the desk. “Gloves. Hat.”

Jack hands them over and Bitty pockets them too.

“Fuck,” Jack repeats, calm completely shot. He feels like a rookie.

Bitty grips him firmly by the biceps. “You’ve got this, okay, Jack? I know you do.”

Jack takes a deep breath knowing Bitty is right. They don’t have a choice now. Kent’s about to walk in. There’s no time to think of anything else.

“Get out of here,” Jack tells Bitty.

Jack steps out of the study, ready to be the distraction while Bitty escapes. His hands are heavy, heart furiously pumping as he positions himself in the entryway.

The front door swings open and Jack has two seconds to appreciate the surprise on Kent’s face before he’s got a gun pressed to his gut and a hand gripping too tight around the back of his neck.

“Easy,” Jack says, lifting his hands slowly into the air beside his head. “I’m unarmed.”

It’s the truth, part of the contingency plan he and Bitty hoped they wouldn’t have to use.

“You expect me to believe that?” Kent asks snidely, breath hot on Jack’s cheek.

Jack shifts his body further toward Kent’s gun. “No.”

“Got that right. Keep the hands where I can see them,” Kent demands, flicking the safety back on his gun and shoving it back in the holster before he pats Jack down roughly.

Jack hopes he doesn’t catch the fact his pulse is still far too elevated.

Kent goes up and down twice before he seems satisfied. He shucks his jacket but keeps the gun holster on.

“Sit.” He jerks his head to the couch.

Jack does as requested, knowing he’s about to be interrogated, taking these last seconds to go over the story he and Bitty had worked on together. Of guilt and regret for ratting on Kent and a slow realisation that Kent’s got the right idea to work against the agency.

He spares a couple of seconds to think of Bitty as well. Jack hopes he got away safely. He hopes Bitty manages to find something on whatever files he ripped from Kent’s computer before he had to bail. The less time Jack has to spend keeping up pretenses with Kent, the better.

Kent asks all the expected questions, and Jack’s acting ability gets tested. It’s one thing to assume an identity and lie to people who you’ve never met, but to play a different version of himself to Kent, his ex-partner, the person who knew him best for years; Jack’s palms don’t stop sweating the entire time he talks.

It’s past time Bitty should have returned to the apartment but Jack hasn’t heard anything through his earpiece. They tested them at this distance. They should work fine.

He has to stop thinking about that though, because as Kent continues to question Jack, keeping his holster on, Jack feels the panic pressing against his skull. Their plan isn’t working. The logic and the explanations and Jack’s carefully curated alibi aren’t working.

Luckily, Jack has his own contingency for their contingency plan. He’s kept it quiet from Bitty, but it’s been in the back of his mind as soon as they started talking about what to do if Kent found them out. It’s based on even less than Jack’s suspicion of Kent’s double-agent status, but it’s all he’s got left and this is the only chance he has to pull this off; to get on Kent’s good side and put himself in a position where he can prove Kent is the double-agent Jack suspected him to be.

Jack lets his emotions onto his face. He’s not an emotional agent, and he’s banking on the fact Kent remembers that about him. He looks into Kent’s eyes, trying to mimic the worried expression that Bitty had after he punched Jack the other week. Once he feels it settled on his face, he breathes out slowly.

“I missed you,” Jack delivers simply, pulling his eyes away from Kent as he speaks, part of the faux-confession.

He doesn’t see Kent’s reaction but he hears it in the rough exhale and feels it in the sudden tension of the room.

Jack’s gambling this mission on a feeling.

He’s about to find out whether it will work.

“Missed me how?” Kent asks. His voice shakes minutely and that’s how Jack knows he has him. He fights the smile at his own success and pushes on, hoping that Bitty’s taken his earpiece out for some reason, or that there’s interfering signals, anything so that he can’t hear what’s about to follow. Jack wants a chance to explain it in person first.

“Just missed you, okay?” Jack plays up the defensiveness, like a kid conned into telling the truth.

Kent removes his holster.

“I just...missed you.” The relief in Jack’s voice in genuine. He hopes Kent reads it as relief at finally confessing his emotions.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack doesn’t expect the gun trained on him when he gets back to the safe house, yet Bitty’s got one pointed right at him.

Jack’s hands immediately fly up beside his head, palms spread. It’s a gut reaction that he’s had far too many times today.

“Talk,” Bitty demands, mouth twisted down.

“What?” Jack’s surprised to see Bitty’s expression so flat. The gun is also unexpected. He knows Bitty’s preference to avoid violence where he can.

“Talk about what happened with Kent. What happened to our plan?”

“You heard it all?” Jack tries to clarify.

Bitty lifts his chin. “Every. Single. Word.”

Jack can’t see anything other than professionalism in Bitty’s expression. He’d hoped the closeness they’d grown between them over the past few weeks would give him the benefit of the doubt until he could explain why he abandoned their contingency plan. Maybe he doesn’t know Bitty as well as he’d thought. Maybe Jack’s feelings toward Bitty are stronger than Bitty’s for him.

Jack’s gut clenches at that thought and he carefully doesn’t think about why.

He puts himself in Bitty’s shoes and realises that Bitty is reacting in exactly the right way for the situation.

“I wasn’t sure our contingency plan would work,” Jack starts his explanation.

“You helped come up with it,” Bitty shuts him down.

“Helped. It was mostly your idea. I went along with it because you’re the lead on this case and the last time I didn’t listen to you, I screwed things up.”

Bitty raises an eyebrow at Jack. “If you’re trying to appeal to whatever empathy you think I have for you right now, don’t. It’s pointless. Complimenting me isn’t going to make me trust you more. Keep going and it might even achieve the opposite.”

“It’s the truth. That’s all.” Jack keeps his eyes on Bitty. He needs Bitty to hear him and believe him.

He left Kent’s feeling like the hardest part of the night was over. He left feeling lighter and eager to get back and talk to Bitty about how it went, to go over Kent’s files together well into the night. He’s realising what’s about to play out may actually be the hardest part.

“You don’t know Kent as well as I do. His reactions to situations are only predictable in their unpredictability,” Jack tries to explain.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this while we were planning?”

“I was letting you lead,” Jack reminds him.

“You lied by omission. You left out vital character information about Kent,” Bitty argues, gun still trained at Jack’s chest.

Jack shakes his head. “I know it doesn’t make me look good right now.”

“You don’t say,” Bitty says sarcastically.

“I’m sorry.” Jack’s shoulders are starting to ache from keeping his arms raised but the steely look in Bitty’s eyes keeps them up.

“So you wasted both our time, lied to me, helped me create a contingency plan you knew wasn’t going to work, all the while—”

“I didn’t know it wasn’t going to work.”

“—just waiting to get the chance to speak to Kent and switch sides because you’re in love with him. God, I should have seen this coming when I found that picture of you in his drawer.”

Bitty’s brain has connected so many unrelated dots in Jack’s opinion that the only thing he can think to say is, “I do not love Kent.”

Bitty scoffs.

“I’ve told you about my anxiety, my past with Kent. You really believe I’d go back to that?” Jack argues, voice getting louder.

“But you’re not denying you switched sides.”

“I didn’t switch sides!” Jack shouts, anger getting away from him.

He wanted to come back tonight and finally start looking for the evidence to prove what he’s been saying about Kent for the past year, yet he’s stuck in the entryway with a gun trained on him by a man he thought was becoming his friend.

“What can I say to make you believe me? Please,” Jack pleads, exhausted.

“Tell me why you kept it secret,” Bitty demands immediately, making Jack think this is the thought that’s been plaguing him the most. “I thought we had each other’s backs. Or was that another lie?” There’s real hurt in Bitty’s words. Jack feels it echo inside him.

“I’m sorry,” Jack says.

BItty shakes his head, rejecting Jack’s apology. “Why?” Bitty repeats his question.

“Because. Because—Can I drop my arms?” Jack finally asks.

Jack thinks for a second that Bitty will say no, but he nods his head.

“I wasn’t sure it would work,” Jack explains, rolling his shoulders. It relieves some of the tension in his body, but it’s hard to relax completely with the gun still in Bitty’s hands.

“It obviously did,” Bitty points out.

“Which is seriously lucky. I was banking on an intuition I had from when we were partners. Since my suspension, I hadn’t seen Kent until that night at the house party. I may not have even tried my idea if we hadn’t found that picture of me in his drawer.”

“Oh god,” Bitty whispers, horror on his face. “That’s really what it was about?”

“Who knows,” Jack answers. “But we got there. I’m in with Kent. You got the hard drive. I want to find that evidence against him. You know how much this whole Kent thing has affected me. What can I say, Bitty, to make you believe that we’re still on the same side,” Jack pleads, voice growing hoarse. “Because of my accusation against Kent, I got suspended. I lost my credibility. I didn’t work for almost a year, and when they deign to reassign me it’s in the US.”

Bitty shifts his weight and the gun lowers a half-inch.

“To have this chance to prove I was right,” Jack pushes on, “to get back to where I was a year ago, restore the worth to my name, of course I was going to do whatever it takes. I would have done—”

“Stop. Stop.”

Jack cuts his words off though they churn within him still.

“Fuck.” Bitty sighs and lowers the gun. He drops his head to his chest and holds it a few seconds in the silence of the room before moving across to the couch. He takes the bullet cartridge out of the gun and holds it out.

Jack walks slowly over to Bitty and takes it from his open palm.

“I overreacted,” Bitty says.

Jack pockets the round of bullets and sits on the other chair. He’s still not sure he’s entirely in the clear. He doesn’t want to ruin it by saying something stupid.

He’s got to let Bitty talk through whatever it is he needs.

“I was so worried that Kent wasn’t going to buy your story, I forgot that we’re only doing this because of you in the first place,” Bitty tells Jack. He leans forward and rests his arms on his legs.

“I remember that night in the kitchen, when we found out there was a double-agent in your agency. You were so fueled by the idea of being right, being able to prove Kent was the mole. The things you said that night, that was the real you talking. Not whatever version of you was with Kent just now.” Bitty lifts his head up and looks across to Jack. “That night wasn’t a lie and neither is this.”

Jack can barely nod, so floored by Bitty’s faith in him and the quick diffusing of the situation.

“Jack,” Bitty says softly, catching his attention. “We got lucky tonight.”

Jack swallows roughly. “I know.”

“We’re going to have to cross our fingers we keep getting lucky,” Bitty says, shuffling on the couch to bring himself closer to Jack’s chair.  He keeps his voice low and his eyes on Jack as he says, “This is a really tricky line for you to walk with Kent, having him think you—”

“I know,” Jack interrupts, turning away. He doesn’t want to hear the words from Bitty’s mouth.

Neither of them speak.

Bitty takes apart his gun and scatters the pieces on the coffee table.

Jack thinks about what his immediate future is going to look like; the things he’ll have to do and say to Kent.

Bitty stands up. Jack still has the bullet cartridge in his pocket, yet Bitty turns his back and walks away.

“Whatever you hear,” Jack says abruptly, breaking the silence before Bitty's swallowed by the darkness of the hallway.

Bitty turns around. The entire room stretches between them.

“Whatever I say to Kent about how I…” Jack takes a breath. “You know it’s not true?”

Bitty’s eyes are on Jack, but the distance and darkness makes them impossible for Jack to read. Jack holds his breath. Bitty’s next words become the most important thing.

“I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

It goes better, more smoothly, and most importantly, quicker than either dared to hope.

Jack becomes Kent's confidant like slipping into a well worn pair of boots. He tries to keep their relationship professional—he doesn't like the twisting feeling in his gut whenever Kent brings them up to that line—but Kent's interest in Jack extends past his proficiency in the field.

Many nights Jack comes home wrecked from the emotional highwire he's forced to walk only to have Bitty waiting up for him with a hot drink or something with far too much butter in it that Jack demolishes as they debrief over the day.

Jack doesn't sleep well and he can tell from the bags under Bitty's eyes that he doesn't either. With Jack undercover with Kent, Bitty's picked up most of the slack in their official case. Where Jack at least is making progress, Bitty seems to be stumped at every turn. The only positive is they're more certain with every foiled mission that Kent's the one behind the failure.

Three weeks in, Jack has a long weekend without Kent's company as Kent travels for a meet up he didn't want Jack part of. Bitty and Jack sneak into his apartment again, easier this time as Jack has a key. There's nothing new to find except for a framed picture of Jack and Kent that sits on the dresser in the master bedroom.

"Did you know?" Bitty asks when they find it. He frowns so much that Jack becomes uncomfortable.

"I knew," he reluctantly admits.

Jack leans over the bed to check the bug is still in place. When he turns back, Bitty's left the room.

Bitty disappears to the study when they get back to the safe house. Jack orders take away when it becomes clear he won't be making dinner.

Bitty joins him as Jack's laying the table. It's become commonplace for them to eat this meal together, if not breakfast too.

"Sorry," Bitty says, looking at the food on the table.

"It's alright," Jack assures him. "I was getting spoiled anyway."

It's a quiet start to the dinner. They were together today so a big part of their usual discussion is unnecessary. Jack doesn't mind but he worries when Bitty plays with his food more than eating it.

"I wasn't expecting to care that much." Bitty drops his fork to his plate.

Jack swallows his mouthful quickly. It's the first time either of them have spoken and he doesn't want the conversation to stop there.

"Care about?" Jack leads.

"The picture." Bitty crosses his arms and looks across the table away from Jack.

Jack puts his own fork down. He doesn't want to miss anything Bitty may say.

"I've been hearing everything as it happens or through you. I thought I was fine with it." Bitty shakes his head back and forth before repeating, "I thought I was fine with it."

Jack doesn't know how to address what Bitty's brought up. He barely knows what it is that Bitty has brought up.

"I'm not, if it helps,” Jack offers. “Fine with it."

Bitty's eyes flick to Jack. It looks like he's searching for something and if Jack knew what it was he'd offer it on a silver platter.

Bitty clears his throat. "You're not?"

Jack frowns. "No. Of course not."

"You always seem so… Normal on the earpiece."

Jack's at least glad to hear Bitty thinks he's convincing at his role. "It's only on the outside," he assures Bitty.

Bitty nods once then picks up his fork and takes a bite of food.

Jack tries not to react with the relief he feels.

He's not sure if it's his words or something else, but Bitty keeps talking as they eat. It's not like their usual debriefs. There's more emotion than either normally show. Jack's used to being in Kent's space by now, if never entirely comfortable, but Bitty hasn't been back since they first bugged the apartment. Jack thinks maybe it’s what’s causing this rawness tonight.

Still, Bitty never seems to confess to Jack's face, and it isn’t until after dinner, as Jack's doing dishes while Bitty remains at the table, that Bitty voices his biggest vulnerability.

"It feels like it gets harder every day," Bitty says. "Letting you—Watching you leave to go to him."

Jack keeps his attention on the dishes. He didn't want to make this harder for Bitty.

“The longer this goes on the more chances there are for everything to go to shit. I hope we get something soon. I don't know how much more…” Bitty pauses. Breathes. Restarts. “I don’t know how much more worry over you I can handle."

Jack's stomach clenches. He almost drops the glass he's cleaning. There's a certain follow up Jack would love to ask but knows he can't. He's spent weeks with Kent, uncomfortable when they drift too far from professionalism, when they bump against the line of not just personal, but intimate. He's not going to be the cause of that same feeling here for Bitty.

He takes a different path instead. If this is honesty hour, he's got something he'd like to say.

"I worry too."

"Well, Kent is—"

"Not about that," Jack interrupts.

He hears Bitty's chair scrape on the floor but doesn't look to see how he's moved. This time Jack keeps his head down for himself. He has a feeling he knows how Bitty will react and he doesn't want to lose his nerve by seeing it on his face.

"You're working two cases at once. The hours you're staying up are ridiculous. You're still cooking every day and letting me unload on you every night." Jack's not even washing the dishes at this point. He grips the sides of the sink to try and redirect some of his emotions through the metal and not at Bitty, who doesn't deserve Jack's worries or fears. Jack just wants to let him know that he knows and it's okay if Bitty needs to let go sometimes.

"You laugh less. I haven't heard music in here in days and I know you've started wearing concealer to try to hide the bags under your eyes."

Jack takes a deep breath and turns around to look at Bitty.

"I'm not worried about me and Kent. I'm worried about you."

Jack watches Bitty for a reaction. There's nothing but stillness for ages, long enough for Jack to worry he's overstepped, brought them up to the line he was trying to avoid. Then Bitty blinks and the mood shifts.

Bitty presses his lips together tight and blinks rapidly. He's not quite looking at Jack anymore but even without the eye contact, Jack can recognise when someone is fighting tears. It feels wrong to watch Bitty struggle but Jack's not in a position to offer the comfort he'd like to.

"I'm sorry."

"Please don't apologise," Jack says in anguish. The last thing he wants is to have added more guilt or stress on Bitty.

Bitty fidgets in his seat and shoves his hands beneath his thighs. "I didn't realised you'd noticed."

Jack frowns. "Are you just apologising that I found out?"

"No, no. I'm not." Bitty shakes his head. "I promise."

"Okay."

"I'm saying I didn't know you felt…That you cared about me like I…"

Bitty trails off. Jack knows what he wants the end of the sentence to be, just like he knows Bitty would never say it even if he felt it. It's not the right situation for them to be anything more.

"I just didn't know you noticed things about me in that way," Bitty finishes his thought.

Jack breathes in and out slowly, his gaze locked with Bitty.

They've come to that line he longs to cross and Bitty's the one who's brought them there.

He swallows. "I notice you."

They stare at each other. Bitty pushes his hands further beneath his thighs and Jack wonders if it's because he's fighting the desire to touch him. Jack's gripping the sink edge again to ground himself. The gaze holds and a tension builds, Jack's skin pricking as he watches Bitty's chest rise and fall with shallow breaths.

"You should go to bed," Jack tries to breaks the tension. "Sleep," he adds, head muddled and looking for clarity.

"Sleep," Bitty repeats. Jack can see in his eyes that sleep isn't on his mind. Nevertheless, Bitty rises slowly from the chair, nods once at Jack and walks off down the corridor to his room.

Jack lets out a breath when he hears the door to Bitty's room click and he drops his head to his chest. He moves his hands from the sink and holds them up. They're shaking.

 

* * *

 

 

After that dinner, they never come as close to confessions, but little things change and Jack's hands shake from nervous exhilaration most nights.

They talk about worries and doubts and come up with more plans to catch Kent out as the double agent. Bitty lets Jack help more on the official case and they hold each other accountable to their pact of time off every other day.

Then it happens.

Kent incriminates himself while he’s talking to Jack.

It's hard for Jack to sit through the rest of the day with Kent and not change how he's acting. He's grateful for once that he's had to spend so much time in Kent's company because even with part of his brain already back home with Bitty, he can still play the ruse successfully.

The drive from Kent’s to the safe house is a blur. Jack runs up the stairs, heart pounding, brain messy with thoughts about the case and Bitty and the future, all driven by the need to talk to Bitty.

He fumbles the key in his haste and bangs the door loudly against the wall when he flings it open.

Bitty’s already standing in the entryway.

“Did you…?” Jack asks, breathless.

Bitty nods, smile spreading across his face. “I got it.”

"Shit. Holy shit."

"Holy _fucking_ shit," Bitty corrects.

Jack kicks the door shut behind him. “We got it.”

Jack strides across to Bitty, stopping when they’re toe to toe. His hands are shaking again.

Jack’s eyes roam over Bitty’s body. “Have I read this wrong. Am I wrong?” Jack asks desperately, hoping Bitty knows what he’s asking about, that he feels the same.

Bitty’s eyes drop to Jack’s lips. His voice is rough when he answers with a single, “No.”

Jack moves and with one kiss he and Bitty are over that line.

Jack’s hands grip tight to Bitty’s hips and Bitty’s hands slide up Jack’s chest before twisting into his hair. It’s not a delicate kiss, but their desperation tastes divine.

The noises Bitty’s making loop strangely in Jack’s head until he realises he’s still wearing his earpiece and yanks it roughly out. Bitty follows suit and then they’re relieving each other of their clothes as Jack leads them down the hall and into his bedroom.

 

* * *

 

 

It's a horrible deja vu when they're interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

Jack's on his feet immediately. His pulse already elevated, now it pumps so loud it reverberates in his ear drum.

“Who?” Bitty asks under his breath, rolling off the bed and reaching for his shirt.

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t know. No-one should be able to get in here.”

“Jack, wait,” Bitty hisses as Jack leaves the room.

He has a looming fear about who he’s going to find in the hallway, and each steps grows that feeling inside him. He walks steadily down the corridor, hands clenching, goosebumps trailing up his exposed torso. He knows he should go back and grab a weapon but the need to know who’s taken away the ‘safe’ from their safe house is too great.

Jack sees the intruder first and he freezes in the doorway between the corridor and the main room.

Kent’s crouched down in the landing area. He has Jack’s earpiece in one hand and Bitty’s belt in the other.

Jack tries to read the expression on his face, to work out whether there’s any way he can redeem this situation, but he hears Bitty creeping up the corridor behind him and rational thought goes out the window.

He throws an arm up behind him to stop Bitty, not checking to see if he’s obeyed.

He steps into the main room.

"Kent. What are you doing here?" Jack barely thinks about tone. The anger will work against him if he's to have any hope of pulling on the facade of Kent's Jack again. His gut tells him they’re over that hill though. Bitty’s left a sweater over the couch, clearly too small for Jack. Kent must have noticed. There’s a matching scarf and beanie set on the coat-hook as well, first thing Kent would have seen when he broke in, and certainly not Jack’s.

Kent looks to Jack and rises slowly, eyes panning over Jack’s body; the jeans low on his hips, the bare chest. Jack can feel his hair in disarray from Bitty’s eager fingers.

Kent’s expression shutters and Jack knows he’s lost him. Kent twists his palm and drops the earpiece to the floor. Jack refrains from making any sudden movements, speaking first, or breaking eye-contact.

“Looks like I’m not the only double-agent,” Kent says. His voice is flat, but there’s hurt behind his eyes.

“Let me explain,” Jack requests, though he has no plan to explain anything, merely trying to buy himself time while he thinks of how to diffuse the situation.

Kent crushes the earpiece under his foot as he takes a step toward Jack. “I’m…” He can’t find the words but a grimace crawls onto his face. Kent shakes his head. “We’re beyond explaining, Jack. You lied. I listened.”

If Jack were playing Kent’s Jack right now, he’d apologise. It’s time to leave that persona behind.

Kent nudges one of Bitty’s abandoned shoes. “Who are they?” Kent surprises Jack by asking.

Jack stays silent.

“I have to give it to you, Jack,” Kent says, “Your acting skills have really improved. I almost believed—” He cuts himself off abruptly and kicks Bitty’s shoe toward Jack, Jack has to side-step to dodge it and when his eyes fix back on Kent, he’s got a gun trained on Jack.

He’s seen that look in Kent’s eyes before. He knows this won’t end well for him. No weapons, no armour, no alibi. It might have been alright if he wasn’t so obviously rubbing in the fact he’s just been with someone else.

Thinking of Bitty makes Jack desperate to flick his eyes back down the corridor, to check Bitty isn’t there, that he’s gone somewhere safe. He knows looking will kill them both.

He takes a step toward Kent, resigning himself to another minute of life, another minute where Bitty can put distance between himself and Kent, call the agency and bring them in at last.

“Wait. Kenny, please,” Jack pleads in a last-ditch attempt to buy time for Bitty.

Thinking of Bitty makes him realise he doesn’t want just these final seconds. No way. If he can get close enough and disarm Kent, there’s a chance he can get out of this alive. He wants to.

He takes another step until the gun’s close enough he could lunge and grab it.

He sees Kent thinking the same thing.

Jack shifts his weight in preparation but then Kent’s eyes dart over Jack’s shoulder.

Jack tenses, eyes screwing shut for a moment as he holds in an expletive.

“Drop the gun, Kent,” Bitty says from behind Jack.

Jack can’t take his eyes off Kent. He knows at this close range, he has no chance of dodging the bullet if Kent decides to shoot, but his instincts won’t let him, even to look behind and check on Bitty.

He’d been hoping Bitty had left and it’s the worst kind of guilt-tinged relief to realise he’s chosen to stay.

It's a tense silence while Jack stares at Kent and Kent stares at Bitty.

Then Kent laughs, dark and twisted.

“This really stings,” he says with sarcasm Jack knows masks the real truth of those three words.

“Drop the gun,” Bitty repeats. “Let Jack go.”

Kent’s lips purse. Jack knows Bitty shouldn’t have added the last part, but there’s no way Bitty could have known that bringing Jack into this with those words, displaying that glimpse into his priorities, is what’s going to be the deciding factor in what Kent does next.

“So it’s not just sex,” Kent comments. His tone is light but Jack’s close enough to see the tick in his jaw. “Pity.”

Kent brings his gaze back to Jack. “I hate that I was right that night,” Kent confesses on a whisper so only Jack hears.

Kent shifts his gun from Jack to Bitty. Their proximity becomes a benefit. Jack’s body is following the movement milliseconds before his brain commands him to protect Bitty.

He doesn’t hear the gunshot, only Bitty’s voice as he screams Jack’s name.

Jack drops to the floor. The crack of his elbow against the hard word stings more than where the bullet has entered him, like his brain still hadn't quite processed. He pushes his hand against the entry wound in his arm, trying to stem the flow of blood already seeping out between his fingers.

“You idiot,” Kent tells him, staring at the wound. It seems Kent still cares.

Kent’s gun is loose in his grip and Jack, still not fully aware of his own pain, attempts a kick to dislodge it from his grasp. His arm throbs as his body’s agony hits like a thunderclap. Jack gasps and curls in on himself.

Kent’s attention is still with Jack. It surprises them both when Bitty appears.

Jack’s certain the “Idiot” Bitty hisses as he manages to disarm Kent is for him, and he has no grounds to refute it.

Jack has no idea where Bitty’s gun is, maybe he never had one like Jack had assumed. A shame, because Jack would love for Kent to experience the pain of being shot at close range after everything he’s done to Jack, starting with getting him suspended and ending with right now.

Kent and Bitty aren’t contained as they fight, moving through the apartment like wildfire. Jack tries to follow but concentrating on them as well as keeping pressure on his arm is difficult. He feels hot and shaky, his fingers slippery with blood and sweat.

Bitty has the upperhand from the start, familiar with the layout of the apartment and using it to his advantage. Kent’s forced backwards and into furniture and he’s got a bruise blooming under his chin before he gets control of the fight.

Kent manages to unbalance Bitty and throw him to the ground. Jack can see the shock of it move through Bitty. They make eye contact and Jack tries to push himself up to join in. Bitty shakes his head frantically at Jack and blocks a blow from Kent, getting back to his feet.

Jack has to concentrate on breathing until the black spots disappear from his vision.

Bitty’s got a cut lip and blood dripping from a cut at his hairline. Jack can see a bullet-proof vest through the tears in his shirt and knows he’s going to get a railing from Bitty about taking the bullet for him later. He’d do it again.

Bitty’s forcing Kent away from Jack. Kent’s favouring one of his legs and Jack knows Bitty will have noticed. He can’t figure out Bitty’s play, light headed from blood loss, but he trusts Bitty.

Jack watches Kent’s hand grip the dining chair and he calls out to warn Bitty. He needn’t have bothered. Bitty’s ready for the maneuver, probably backed Kent this way on purpose, and he ducks the chair easily, crouching low below it and punching Kent’s weaker leg. He reaches for the chair as Kent crumples, and uses it to hit Kent in the face. Kent crashes messily to the floor.

Bitty drops the chair and stands over Kent. Jack can hear him breathing harshly.

Kent doesn’t move.

Bitty drops down and pulls handcuffs from his back pocket, locking Kent’s hands together behind his back.

He stands and walks toward Jack. “Don’t move,” Bitty barks at Jack as he walks past, not looking at him.

He grabs his abandoned belt and returns to Kent, tying his feet together tightly.

Bitty stands and pushes the hair from his face, wiping the blood that gets on his fingers off on his shirt.

“We need to call the agency,” Jack says, pushing himself along with his legs until he can use the wall to prop himself up. He tries not to notice how much blood he’s left in a trail along the floor.

“Shut up,” Bitty whispers.

“He’s going to come around soon.”

“Shut up.”

“Bitty. We can’t leave-”

“Shut up!” Bitty’s voice cracks.

Bitty tilts his head back. It’s so quiet in the apartment that Jack hears him breathe deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth twice.

Bitty turns finally. He walks silently to Jack and drops to his knees in front of him. He won’t look Jack in the eyes as he removes his shirt and tears it into strips. There are scratch marks on his arms and the angry red marks forewarning where his bruises will be tomorrow. Jack wishes he didn’t feel so weak, like he’s only upright because of the wall, so he could reach for Bitty and help him in the same way he’s helping Jack.

Bitty pushes Jack’s hand from his arm and dresses his wound with quick efficiency. Jack winces as he ties the strips tightly. His bloody hand rests uselessly in his lap. He isn’t sure whether he’s too cold or too hot.

When Bitty’s done, he leans back on his heels and drops his head to his chest.

He still hasn’t looked at Jack once.

“Bitty?”

Bitty lifts his head. He’s crying.

Jack finds the energy to lift his hand, wanting to wipe the tears away, but it’s covered in blood. He leans in instead, pressing his forehead to Bitty’s.

“It’s over. I’m okay. You did it. It’s over.” Jack keeps whispering reassurances to Bitty. His shot arm rests numb against his side, his words and proximity the only comfort he can offer right now.

“Idiot,” Bitty eventually reprimands him, voice thick. “You are such a fucking idiot. He was meant to shoot me and you were meant to get him.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack apologises immediately, running his nose up the length of Bitty’s.

Bitty grabs Jack’s face between his hands, eyes trapping Jack with their intensity. “You better be.”

“I am.”

“Good.” Bitty’s grip is insanely tight, but it distracts Jack from the pain in his arm and if it reassures Bitty to hold him, Jack won’t say anything.

“It’s over,” Jack repeats.

Bitty presses his forehead tighter against Jack’s. When he sighs, Jack feels the tension drain from him too. “It’s over.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you sure about this?”

Jack nods, not able to help the smile that slips onto his face. “I’m sure, ma’am”

George sits back in her chair and throws her pen onto the table over Jack’s file. “Okay then. I’ll make it happen.”

“Thanks, George.”

She laughs. “I guess it is George, now, isn’t it.”

Jack leaves her office with the smile still on his face. In the corridor, people stop to congratulate him or ask about his recovery when they see his arm is finally out of the sling. Jack doesn’t mind stopping to talk to them because soon he’s not going to get the chance.

George is good to her word and two days later Jack’s on a plane to the US with an approved transfer request in his bag. He’s got a meeting next week with the head of the US sub-branch he’ll be working in, and an apartment already bought and furnished. He doesn’t plan on thinking about either of those things today.

Jack steps out of the airport and opens up his text chain with Bitty. He rides his excitement all the way to the address on his phone, the one he’d asked for so he could mail Bitty a thank you package for having his back on their mission together. He’s done that already, and Bitty had been very liberal with texting him his reaction. Jack can’t wait to see it in the flesh this time.

Bitty lives on the top floor of a dual house. Jack climbs the stairs with only his backpack and a duffel bag with toiletries and a change of clothes pressing against his legs as he walks. It’s presumptuous, but Jack’s doesn’t think he’s been reading the unsaid in Bitty’s messages wrong.

After they were interrupted by Kent those few months ago, neither has explicitly brought up what happened between them. Their texts and calls are friendly, flirty at times, but never outright expressions of anything deeper. Jack's hoping his transfer will change that. If Jack's working in the US, then Jack and Bitty become a tangible possibility. Jack's hoping the unspoken will become spoken between them.

He rings the buzzer and waits. His hands shake but he doesn’t want to trap them in his pockets. It’ll take that much longer to touch Bitty.

He can see a figure approaching through the frosted glass of the door and he takes a deep breath.

Bitty gets the door halfway open, sees it’s Jack, and freezes.

“Surprise,” Jack says.

Bitty’s jaw drops and he opens the door the rest of the way. His eyes move slowly over Jack’s body and rest for long seconds on his arm where the bullet wound sits beneath his shirt and sweater.

“All healed,” Jack tells him and then Bitty moves with such a speed—Jack forgot how fast he can be when determined—and Jack’s thankful his hands were free so he can steady them on the landing and they don’t go flying down the stairs he’s just walked up.

“Jack!” Bitty’s cheek presses warm against Jack’s as they hug.

Jack laughs and wraps his arms tighter around Bitty. He feels like Jack remembers.

“What are you doing here?” Bitty asks, pulling away and taking Jack’s duffle, leading him into the house. “Why didn’t you call ahead? I would’ve picked you up from the airport or something.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” Jack normally takes notice of every new place he enters, but he can’t tear his eyes from Bitty. He’s in yoga pants and a loose sweater that bares the slogan of a high school football team. Bitty’s hair is longer and it curls at the base of his neck and over the tops of his ears. He’s more tanned than when Jack last saw him. Bitty hadn’t mentioned taking a holiday. Jack wonders if he’s been on mission somewhere warm.

Bitty takes them into a small lounge room that feels as welcoming to Jack as Bitty himself. He drops Jack’s duffle on a chair, shuts an open laptop left sitting on the coffee table, then gestures Jack to sit beside him on the couch.

“So?” Bitty prompts. “You gonna answer my question? _Why’re you here?”_

Jack pulls a slip of paper from his backpack and hands it over.

Bitty takes it. “What’s this?”

“Read it,” Jack encourages.

Bitty narrows his eyes suspiciously but drops his head and reads. Jack’s a little selfish asking him to do this instead of just telling him, but he’s been fantasising about the look on Bitty’s face ever since the idea to transfer popped into his head, and this way he can draw it out.

Bitty’s face is everything Jack wants it to be, plus he’s very vocal as he reads. “A transfer? But...The US! And you’ll be...Oh, that’s Chris’ division...Approved already, wow.”

Bitty finishes and looks up at Jack, eyes wide. “You’re transferring to the US?”

Jack nods. “Yeah.”

“I can’t believe…” Bitty stares down at the paper, biting his lip. “I thought you’d stay in Canada for sure,” he says, a hint of a question in his tone.

“I thought the same," Jack replies honestly.

“We worked so hard to prove you were right.” Bitty looks back up to Jack, a worried frown on his face. “Did they not give you your old job back?”

“They offered me a promotion, actually.”

“Jack!” Bitty gasps. “That’s incredible.”

“Thank you.”

Bitty looks down at the paper again. “You obviously didn’t take it though. This transfer was only approved a few days ago.”

“I didn’t realise until they offered the promotion that I didn’t want it,” Jack tells him, taking the paper back from Bitty and slipping it into his backpack.

Bitty cocks his head. “Why not?”

“I’d have to stay in Canada.”

“Oh.” Bitty crosses his hands in his lap.

“And I realised…” Jack takes a breath to steady himself. “I realised there wasn’t anything keeping me in Canada.”

Bitty nods slowly.

“More than that, actually. There was—there _is—_ something pulling me out here.”

Jack looks hopefully at Bitty.

Bitty swallows. “Something?”

He puts the emphasis on the second half of the word.

Jack’s heart flips over and his palms feel pin-pricked.

“Someone,” Jack whispers.

Bitty’s lips quiver like he’s not sure he can smile yet. Jack decides to be even clearer.

“I know I haven’t said anything about my feelings or the transfer or coming here today. I didn't want to put any pressure on you to weigh in on my decision. I mean, you were a big factor in my deciding to transfer here, but I didn't want to overwhelm you if that was... too much. We never said anything concrete about how we felt in our texts and-" Jack exhales roughly, shaking his head. "I'm not explaining this well."

“Jack?” Bitty puts a hand on Jack's knee to grab his attention. "You took a bullet for me. That was explanation enough."

Jack breathes. “Yeah?"

Bitty nods. Keeping his hand on Jack's knee, he says, "I didn't bring up the idea of a transfer either, though lord knows I thought enough times about asking you."

"You did?" Jack had hoped. It's nice to have it confirmed.

"Of course. We left ourselves unfinished after you got shot. Then they took you back to Canada and the timing wasn't right and—Well, maybe they're just excuses, because I…" Bitty pulls his hand back into his own lap and starts tapping his fingers on his thigh. "I didn't think it was something you'd consider, transferring here. Hearing you confirm that would mean I'd have to let go of the idea that we could… finish ourselves."

Jack takes back Bitty's hand and curls their fingers together. Bitty blinks up at him.

"I have though. Transferred. And I’d like to… finish us," Jack uses Bitty's words though they feel abnormal to him.

Bitty laughs and squeezes Jack's hand. "I probably could have put that in a better way."

"Probably," Jack agrees with a smile, his heart turning over in his chest. "I think I get the message though."

"Good. But if you don't, just in the interest of being totally clear…” Bitty tucks a leg up beneath him on the couch, bringing them closer together. “I like you, Jack. And I like that you've transferred because I’d like to date you."

There’s no worry or hesitation in Bitty as he speaks. His face is totally open, Jack can see hope and excitement in the red flush on his cheeks and it's like they're already in sync because Jack feels warmth on his face too.

Jack’s cheeks lift in a smile. "I like you too, Bitty."

He'll tell Bitty that every day if it gets him the same joyful grin it does now.

"I know there's a lot to figure out still with what our jobs are," Jack can't help but bring up. "I made sure they didn't put us in the same division, but there's probably still going to be some crossover. We'll need to talk about-"

"Jack." Bitty, smiling fondly, tugs on their joint hands. “Shut up."

He doesn’t give Jack the chance. Bitty leans in and presses his lips to Jack’s, a light touch that has Jack’s lips curling into a smile. Jack can feel Bitty smile too. It makes him press in closer to Bitty, throwing one arm along the back of the couch and resting his other hand on Bitty’s hip as something warm settles in his chest. Bitty's fingers trail up Jack's arm to rest against his neck, and Jack feels his pulse pushing against Bitty's fingers. Bitty sighs against Jack's lips and settles into the kiss. Jack shifts the hand from Bitty's hip around to his lower back and pulls him tight against his chest, settling him there close to his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I try to respond to all comments so feel free to leave one :)
> 
> Thanks again Max ([tumblr](https://transzimmermann.tumblr.com/) \+ [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualkon)) for the edit that inspired this entire work. Thanks also to ToughPaperRound [(AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToughPaperRound/works?fandom_id=1147379) \+ [tumblr)](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/garibaldifigroll) for stepping in last minute to beta.
> 
> reblog [the 'official' post](https://omgcpreversebang.tumblr.com/post/185144043245/title-the-line-between-author) | [the art](https://transzimmermann.tumblr.com/post/185140835143/aesthetic-for-the-line-between) | [the fic](https://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/post/185140914246/the-line-between) | [the banner](https://transzimmermann.tumblr.com/post/185140845138/title-between-the-lines-by-17piesinseptember)
> 
> [Go check out the other awesome fics and artwork for this event.](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/omgcprb2019/works)
> 
> Enjoyed this? Find more of my writing on [tumblr.](https://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/tagged/mine)


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